Darkness Within
by underyourstars
Summary: During the summer at Grimmauld Place, Remus Lupin saw the house being invaded by the Weasley family but took little notice of it. That is, until he realized there was more to the younger Weasley than met the eye. And soon he feels himself being drawn towa


_Title_: Darkness Within

_Author_: underyourstars

_Email_: 

_Rating_: PG

_Classification_: romance/drama

_Pairings_: Ginny Weasley/Remus Lupin

_Spoilers_: All five books

_Disclaimers_: Not mine. But as soon as I figure out a way of turning Lupin into a human person, he will be.

_Summary_: During the summer at Grimmauld Place, Remus Lupin saw the house being invaded by the Weasley family but took little notice of it. That is, until he realized there was more to the younger Weasley than met the eye. And soon he feels himself being drawn towards her in a way he can neither control nor understand.

_Author's Notes_: This story would be Lupin's point of view from "Reading Between the Lines", another fic of mine that if you haven't read, please, do (you'd make me very very happy), even though this one **stands alone**. I was encouraged to write it after all the lovely reviews I received for RBtL, though I have to confess I was kind of afraid of writing it. What if I ruined a perfectly good idea? But you see, since it was written in Ginny's point of view, the majority of reviewers tended to see Remus/Ginny relationship as one-sided – and that's not really what I wanted. Maybe it is the girl-with-a-crush in me, but I really wanted Lupin to feel something for Ginny as well. So I thought, what the hell, I'll have a go - and here it is. Of course it wouldn't be half of what it is if it wasn't for my lovely beta, Lindsey, who has the talent to not only correcting my mistakes, but also improving the stories I write. I can never thank her enough – though I suspect she's getting tired of my billion "thank you"s. Well, it doesn't matter: Thank you, Lindsey!

And now that I've said too much, on to the story!

Remus could remember as if it was yesterday, lying in a bed at St Mungo's, hurt and scared of what would happen. He could hear his parents arguing behind the door; his mother crying and his father shouting about how they should have stayed in London, for he knew nothing good could come from living among "your people."

_Your people_, he had said, and his wife wouldn't answer. Maybe she knew her husband would regret saying that later; maybe she was too distressed to think about arguing. Or maybe she had gotten so used to his prejudice it didn't even hurt anymore.

It hurt the young Remus though. He tossed in bed, trying to find a more comfortable position for his sore arm. If only he had controlled his curiosity - if he hadn't left the house so late at night! But it was no use crying over spilled potion, as his mother would say.

But his mother was crying, "He is so young! What will become of him? He won't even have the chance to go to school, and I dreamed about the day he'd go to Hogwarts!"

Remus had dreamed about that day too. But there was no use dreaming anymore. Everyone around him was acting as if he was dangerous - "One of the most dangerous beasts on Earth," the healer had said when they thought he was sleeping. Except that he was awake and didn't like being called a beast. He was just a boy. He wanted to go home and play as if nothing had happened. But he knew he couldn't and his arm hurt so much he couldn't focus on anything for very long.

The days he had spent in that bed had been a nightmare. People would come and go - healers who had to check on him; Ministry employees who had to register him; curious patients who wanted to see a werewolf from up close. They all showed a mix of fear and pity, and they all treated him as if his life had ended.

Except for a young healer who'd come to check on him at night. She was nice, pretty, and treated him like he was a normal boy.

And he remembered how, one night, she told him a tale of a werewolf that was as harmless as a puppy dog when around the woman he loved. "Well," she had explained, "some say there are people with the power to control werewolves, so maybe that woman was one of them. But my grandmother told me this is bollocks, that a werewolf would only be tamed by someone he loves." She giggled. "Or she. Strange, isn't it? I never heard anything about female werewolves."

What was really strange was that this story stayed with him for a very long time. He couldn't understand why it marked him so; it was a romantic fairytale, the kind of story that entrances dreaming girls. It didn't entrance young boys the idea that werewolves could be tamed by loving women. It just wasn't dangerous, or exciting enough.

Maybe what entranced him, he thought during the many nights he had gone through his transformation under the effect of the Wolfsbane, was the idea that the beast could be controlled not by complicated Potions or risky spells, but by will.

From early on he knew that the beast should be controlled at all costs, but he also knew humans could be as bestial as dark creatures. He would think of his father – a good, gentle man who'd lose control every time he had to face the world his wife and son belonged to. He didn't mean to harm anyone, but the shouts and the suppressed prejudice caused harm enough. So Remus promised himself he would never shout, no matter how bad the situation was, or how angry he'd be; he would keep his temper.

That's what he dreaded about full moons, the fact that he'd lose control and there was nothing he could do about it. He'd have to let his conscious mind be taken hostage by pure instincts. He'd hear the blood pumping in the bodies of people at miles away; he'd listen to the beat of their hearts – and he wanted badly to taste the blood and destroy the hearts. And then he would return to his normal self in the morning, ashamed of what he had felt and afraid he would someday break free from his chains and attack someone.

He often had nightmares about it, and that's why he didn't find it strange when he dreamed about wandering in the Gryffindor common room in his wolf form. But there was something strange about this particular dream. Although he listened to several heartbeats and smelled the blood of all the students sleeping in their dorms, there was a scent stronger than anything else. He couldn't explain what it was, but it was familiar and it attracted him to the point he ignored everything else and followed it.

So he climbed the stairs and entered the room carefully, his paws making no noise whilst he got closer to where the scent was. He crept into the curtains and softly jumped onto the bed; and though his wolf form took almost all the space, he barely noticed it for he couldn't focus on anything but that body under him and _her_, smiling widely in the darkness and stroking the back of his head as if she was stroking a man's hair. "I knew you would come."

It startled him so much he woke up panting. It seemed so real he could almost smell her and feel her hands on him – he knew he wouldn't attack her but he couldn't explain why or how he knew it.

But in order to understand why this dream – that is getting more and more frequent to poor Remus – unsettled him so much, we have to go back over a year in time, back to early June, when the Weasley family arrived at Grimmauld Place.

He was happy to know there would be people there helping Sirius with the house, but he wasn't particularly interested. He was glad to see some of his old students though, and all of them greeted him with enthusiasm. There were the twins, of course, always fun and dangerous to be around; Ron, Harry's best friend; and the girl, as red haired as the rest of the family – but for the life of him he couldn't remember her name. Luckily, Molly saved him, "You remember Ginny, my youngest?" and he mumbled something about not forgetting one of his best students while feeling deeply ashamed he could hardly recall ever teaching her.

Ginny. She was a lovely girl. Sirius liked her, and was amused by how she would try to escape unnoticed when she'd get too tired for the house chores. "As if that girl could go unnoticed! With her fiery temper and that red hair!"

Remus hadn't notice the fiery temper or anything else about that girl – she was another Weasley, and that was good enough for him. He only noticed how Sirius' laughter -so much like a bark, low, bitter, anything but happy – would have a different tone when talking to her or the twins.

So once he stopped to look. And soon he could see why Sirius liked her so much – she reminded of the young him, with a mischievous smile of someone who's planning to misbehave; an arrogant look that seemed to defy the world; a careless approach to her beauty, as if she knew of it, but it didn't really matter.

He soon had more opportunities to study her while they stayed in the kitchen after lunch, listening to Sirius' stories about their days at Hogwarts. He knew all the stories by heart, of course, and she didn't seem interested all the time, but Sirius again had some spark in his eyes and they'd share some hearty laughs together, the three of them.

It didn't take long for him to notice there was something in her eyes that didn't go with her smile or her beauty. He couldn't quite say what exactly it was, but it was hurtful. As if she had memories she couldn't share, but couldn't forget either, no matter how hard she tried. It was there every time she thought no one was looking, every time she was alone with her thoughts.

That discovery unsettled Remus. He didn't know what to think of it, or how to treat her. All of a sudden she wasn't a normal girl, or just another Weasley – she had been through something that had changed her and had shut off some part of her to the world.

Remus knew the feeling. He went through that kind of experience every full moon. He couldn't help but think that maybe he could help her; maybe he could understand, even if no one else could. She was nothing more than a scared girl posing as brave. How come no one else saw it?

Once she had caught him staring, but he sensed he couldn't let her know he wanted to help her or she would back away from him, stubbornly and proudly refusing any help. He didn't want to ruin Sirius' afternoons, so he diverged her attention by saying, "You know, I think he's happiest when he's sitting here with us telling all his stories."

From then on she seemed happy too; the spark in her eyes showed him she finally had realized the importance of those shared moments.

Unfortunately, life went on. Between Order meetings and missions Dumbledore would send him on, time was scarce. And then came Harry, in need of attention and protection, although he refused it since he didn't know the importance of keeping him safe.

Their afternoons were over, but they had had a lasting importance. That's why Remus, while escorting her to the Hogwarts Express, felt he needed to tell her how precious those hours after lunchtime had been to him. And she smiled, so innocent, glowing like he thought she would, had something not hurt her so much, and he couldn't help but offer, "If you should ever want to talk, you can always write me."

He thought she would never write him. Why would she? She had friends she could talk to; she had a loving family to support her. Why would she want to write to a former teacher, someone she barely knew, who felt this urging need of helping her, even though she didn't know of it?

He wished she'd write, though, so he could learn more about her; so he could see if indeed she was this scared girl, brave enough not to let anyone see her fear.

So when he did receive a letter from her, he was overwhelmingly happy. It was to him a proof of trust, just like Dumbledore's trust when he let the eleven-year-old Remus go to school in spite of being a werewolf; or the trust he reiterated when invited him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Back then he felt he had to be a great teacher, for he had to prove himself worthy of all that trust. Now he felt the same way – he had to show her he was worthy, so he soon wrote her back, carefully choosing the words while genuinely taking interest in everything she had to say.

Many letters followed, and he cherished each one of them, for they were a welcomed escape from a reality that got harsher every day. They would talk about everything, and he enjoyed how she could be so mature and still retain so much innocence and enthusiasm. He wondered if that was typical of fourteen-year-old girls, but he had this feeling it was something only Ginny could be capable of.

Soon it was too dangerous to go on; according to what Dumbledore reported, Umbridge was trying to seize control of Hogwarts, and all mail was being verified. He knew Umbridge didn't like him – she didn't like any half-breeds, as she would call him -, and he feared he would be putting Ginny at risk of calling too much attention to herself.

So their correspondence had to stop. Again in his life he hated Umbridge with all his forces. He even had the childish desire of turning into a werewolf and biting her so she could see how it felt – because there was too much he could still teach Ginny; too much he still had to learn about her to help her not turn into a creature as pitiful as he was.

To say he often thought about it would be a lie. He was too busy to remember anything but his tasks, and only during the terrible nights of his transformation he would think of his life, his past, Sirius, and Ginny, while lying awake on the floor, staring at the glass of Wolfsbane Snape would send him every month.

If there is one thing Remus was not guilty of it was of pitying himself. He didn't think of him as a poor man, cursed for life because of an accident he had as a child. Instead, he blamed himself for everything wrong that happened, from the night he was bitten to the losing of his friends.

Self-conscious as he is, he knew that everyone else still treated him with that mix of fear and pity he had experienced when at St Mungo's. He couldn't blame them, for he had learned he is, indeed, a beast - and a dangerous one - every full moon. But he also felt thankful there were people who looked at him as if he was a man, like Sirius and Dumbledore did. He couldn't think of Harry, or Harry's friends, that way. He somehow sensed they usually forgot what he was; or didn't even know how terrible the whole situation could be. Harry certainly didn't. And Ginny seemed to have forgotten it too.

Back to Ginny. He felt that she deserved much better than what she was headed to become. She was strong, yes, and she was brave, sure, but there was something in her they both shared – the need to be appreciated, and the fear of not being worthy of any appreciation.

While immersed in those thoughts, he wrote her two letters, even though he knew he couldn't send them. It's just that he felt the need to know how she was and to tell her how things were getting difficult to handle, as if someone was preventing him from breathing, and he had to content himself with eventual short gasps of air.

Then Christmas came, and along came the attack on Arthur. Ginny's smile among all that confusion was like inhaling after such a long time, and when he found the package she left in front of his bedroom door, and opened to see she had given him several letters as a Christmas present, he thought she couldn't have given him a better gift, and spent the whole night answering every letter she had written.

But while wrapping up her gift, he realized there was something in the tone of her letters that hadn't been there before. The eagerness, along with a shy hint of hope – but what hope was it? He thought he could be reading it wrong, but it seemed she hoped he would answer her back; she hoped he would understand and accept her. But there was also a desperate need of letting him know more of her, as if she wanted to put herself in her letters and hand it to him.

He knew it couldn't be. Or course he was reading too much between her lines.

But the idea that he could be right frightened him. He had just wanted to help her, not confuse her even more. He wanted to help her loose that fear that was in her eyes, setting her free; he didn't want her to become dependant of him like she seemed to be when she'd mention those letters were to her like a saving rope.

He was almost sure she had let it slip. But now that sentence hung over his head the entire time they were sat side by side in the Knight Bus on their way back to Hogwarts. Because every time she smiled at him, excited and worried, asking him what was wrong almost as if she had sensed his disturbance, he would feel he had failed her. He hadn't managed to help her, nor prove himself worthy of her trust.

So he would squeeze her hand and smile gently to comfort her, not saying a word, but feeling something inside him break every time he did so.

He had failed someone dear to him _again_. And when thinking of it, he wished he could loose control and destroy the room, tearing those screaming portraits apart with his teeth, howling like a mad wolf would. But he had taken his Wolfsbane, so he had to just lie there, crying softly so no one could hear; sniffing her letters and recognizing her scent and letting it torture him; wishing for the first time in his life he could loose conscience and just run through the Forbidden Forest among all the other creatures he knew were as dangerous as he was.

Until one night, when he woke up panting after a dream that seemed too real; almost as if he had been there in her bed, and she had stroke his hair and whispered, "I knew you would come" as if she was saying, "I knew you would surrender."

He felt dirty and ashamed and scared, and that dream brought back memories he had managed to repress for a while; but now he could remember as if it was yesterday, lying in a bed at St Mungo's, hurt and scared, listening to that young healer tell him a tale of a werewolf that surrendered completely to a woman.

Had this werewolf really loved that woman? Or was it true that there were people with the power to control werewolves?

Could it be that Ginny was one of them? He thought, somewhat desperate, that if she had this power of unleashing the beast in him, maybe she could somehow control it.

While sharing a drink with Dumbledore, when the headmaster was hidden from the Ministry, he had asked what happened to the young Weasley. The old man never asked him why he thought something had happened; never hinted that he wanted to know the reason of his curiosity. He simply took a long, resigned breath and told Remus how she had been controlled by Tom Riddle's diary in her first year.

As if it was any possible, Remus felt worse. He could understand her fear now; and he wondered, maybe as just a man could, what could a sixteen-year-old boy do to a young girl who is completely in his sake. He shuddered at the thought, as he felt sure there would be things about her experience she would never tell anyone.

Would he have ever been able to help her?

But it didn't matter now, did it? He had ruined everything, making things worse than they already were. If only he had known!

If only he had known in advance, he could have prepared better.

That's what crossed his mind while standing in the middle of the Death Chamber, watching Harry run away from him but unable to follow and stop the boy; unable to even look around or lift his wand.

Luckily Dumbledore was there. Remus never knew how the headmaster took control of the situation and trapped all the Death Eaters with an Anti-Disapparation Jinx; he could only remember the man looking in his eyes, sharing his sadness, but asking where the others were.

The others. Remus finally remembered Harry hadn't come alone to the Ministry. Neville was there, he had to check on him. So he did, realizing he and Alastor were the only ones standing. But Alastor was too busy trying to revive Tonks and Kingsley, so he rushed through the other chambers, helping to collect the students.

And there was Ginny, with a broken ankle, that fiery temper of hers and the arrogant look she would use when defying someone. But she was also scared, very scared; and hurt, more than she would say.

She wanted to pose as brave again, and there was nothing Remus could do about it. He approached her, not daring to speak for he didn't know if he could, but she held his hand briefly, looking into his eyes as if to say she knew what he was feeling, feeling sorry that she couldn't relieve it somehow.

That was when he knew he couldn't back away from her now. Maybe there was still a way to fix things, to making himself worthy of her trust again.

At night, when he finally got some sleep, he dreamed again about being in his wolf form and going to meet her. But this time there was just the full moon and she, and he cried, just the way he hadn't been able to cry when thinking of Sirius just moments ago.

This time he didn't wake up panting. He woke up softly, like one wakes from a good dream. He felt almost relieved, almost as if he had washed away his pain by crying. But dreams don't work like that, and even though he wished they did, the tears didn't come while he was awake. He soon felt that excruciating pain of loss again, and he couldn't understand how days could go by as usual, and how he had to live them – but so he did, even thought he felt like a limb had been taken away from him.

Arthur's visit came as a surprise, and Remus didn't know how to refuse the invitation to come have lunch and dinner in the Burrow every time he could. He just thanked Arthur heartily, ignoring that once again people were acting towards him with pity.

Maybe he managed to ignore it because he knew Ginny didn't feel pity, and she would be happy to see him there. Also, it would be a great opportunity to keep up with his plans of helping her while undoing the damage he had done.

So he would go to the Burrow every time he could, and would find the warm reception they'd always given him, and it pleased him. Molly was always reiterating the invitation, as if to be sure he would come often, and Arthur enjoyed talking to him.

But Ginny was the main reason he'd always go back there. They would seat by the kitchen table after the meal was over, sharing a few words, but most often sharing a comfortable silence. Neither would speak, almost as if they couldn't, almost as if words could break something between them.

Remus wished he could say something, though. That was the reason he went there, to talk to her, to help her, maybe even save her. But as days went by he began wondering if she needed saving – maybe it was him who needed it so badly.

Around her, he felt like he could cry his pain out of him. He knew it was an illusion, just as tales about werewolves being controlled by will were illusions. But strangely, around her these illusions seemed possible.

He was tormented by all these thoughts. He didn't know what was worse, to think of Sirius or to think of Ginny. Once he squeezed her hand so sturdily he feared he had hurt her. He said, "I miss our letters, but I just can't get myself to write anything anymore," and his voice was hoarse and tortured.

He kept apologizing for not being more present, for failing to help her cope with all that happened. He didn't know if she understood what he meant. He suspected she didn't, because she didn't know of his resolution of helping her, but she wouldn't say anything, and this would happen over and over, just like his dreams with her, which would repeat almost every night.

And it continued until it was time for the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione to go back to school. He volunteered to escort them to the station and was shocked to realize he did it so he could have a few more minutes with them. But before he could recover from this realization, he saw Ginny approach him after all the goodbyes.

"A few years from now, we'll need to have a very serious conversation," she had stated, so matter-of-factly he didn't even think it was funny.

"A few years?" he had asked, as if he had no idea of what she would want to talk to him. "Why can't we talk now? Can't you write telling me what it is?"

She smiled, walking away from him. "I don't think you are ready to acknowledge some of the things I'll want you to." She winked. "At least not yet."

She turned her back to him, and he couldn't help but smile while watching her get into the wagon, feeling like the world had been taken away from his shoulders and admitting she was right.

She was absolutely right.


End file.
